


a means to an end

by vanasha



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Yakuza, F/M, Forced Relationship, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jealousy, Minor Violence, One-Sided Attraction, Possessive Behavior, Power Imbalance, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stalking, Unrequited Love, Yandere, excessive usage of the word fuck. really it's all kyoutani says. my bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:22:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28878681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanasha/pseuds/vanasha
Summary: Neither Makki nor him miss how your grip on the door handle tightens shortly, as if considering to close the door right into their faces.He can’t blame you. But it’s a smart move that you’re not doing it. Saves them the trouble of breaking the door open and you of having to pay for a new one. Still, it makes him wonder what kind of face you’d make if he’d choose to force himself inside your flat, what kind of noise you’d make once you realise that there’s no way of stopping him–“Hey sweetie,” Makki interrupts his trail of thoughts, because all Kyoutani is doing is fucking staring at you.Or, your boyfriend messes with the wrong people but somehow you end up paying for it.
Relationships: Kyoutani Kentarou/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 116





	a means to an end

**Author's Note:**

> Head empty, Yakuza AU only.

Kyoutani thinks he’s seen it all.

Whatever dirty, horrible and cruel thing has been done in and for this kind of business, he’s pretty much seen it. Taken part in a lot of them as well, now that he thinks about it.

And you see all sorts of things when you’re collecting debts. You see even more than that when you’re doing it for the oyabun, Oikawa Tooru himself.

He’s gotten peeks into people’s lives, their homes, sometimes even into their fucking insides. You got it all, the family men fucking up one too many times, the no-good husbands, the gamblers, the addicts, the guilty ones, the ones that have done things that even he’s feeling uncomfortable with, and the ones that were a little bit of everything.

He’s seen their families, sometimes standing in their way which was annoying at best. Begging them for their lives or the life of their loved ones as if the Yakuza was known for taking requests without a price. He’s seen them ushering the children out, making up stories about how “daddy was going to be right back” and Kyoutani’s not sure who they’re trying to sell those lies to, the children or themselves. There were the ones that moved right aside and didn’t even try to stop them, some of them standing at the sides, silently, crying their hearts out or holding their hands in front of their eyes as if any of that would make them disappear.

He’s seen girls, wives, prostitutes dumping their men for being stupid enough to loan or lose money from the wrong kind of people. The same group staying with these fuck-ups because they could probably spit right into their faces and they’d still say Thank you.

And if Kyoutani was being honest, he couldn’t care less about any of them. Call him an emotionless asshole all you want but he believed that you make your choices and then you have to live with them. For better or for worse.

That’s how everything works, at least in his book. More importantly, that’s how things worked for Oikawa.

He’s certainly made his choices and he’s living with them. That he’s living with them very well is just a benefit, something he had worked hard for. He’s taken a bit more wrong turns than right ones but he’s never regretted it. He chose this life.

Not everyone has that luxury, he’s aware of that, but he was content where he was. Working for Oikawa was more than fine for him. He was good at it. Had found something- some people, that he’d consider friends, even family.

He’s always been bad with words, so he had been more than happy letting the ink on his body speak for himself, proving what he’d hardly said out loud.

The fucking pride he felt over the fact that Oikawa asked him, _chose_ him and put this much trust in him- it was something he still sometimes couldn’t completely wrap his mind around but would do anything for to keep. _Has_ done anything to keep.

No one had ever done that before, giving him a place, giving him a life.

He’s been loyal to him, to them and their cause before, you don’t make it that far in this organisation if you’re not, but that only increased once it was official he belonged with the others.

Word got around about that, it always does.

People were talking, in the business and out of it. Saying that Oikawa had to only snip his fingers and his men would come running, but that his mad dog would be rushing to the front. Doing whatever the boss wanted of him as long as he got off the leash.

There was truth in that, he thought without any shame. But a leash only makes sense if you don’t know your place.

And you can say a lot about him, fuck, people do, but Kyoutani knows his place. Knows the rules that are set in stone and the ones that are a bit more bendable, depending on how you went about them. He knows how far you can stray from them without raising heads. And he knows what happens when you forget them.

He’s gotten his fair share of reminders before Oikawa but never under him.

In the past he’d been a stubborn little brat, having been called “a difficult” or “a troublesome” child long before he was able to make a sense of any of these words.

Sure, no one had actually ever given him a chance or had looked twice at him which hadn’t exactly been helpful. Some might view that as an excuse but he’s never seen it as that. It was what is was, which is a fact. It hadn’t helped, but it certainly didn’t fuck his entire life up.

He hadn’t made it easy for them. Looking back, he knew that he had been uncontrollable, unpredictable in a way that drove the few people off that he hadn’t already managed to push away from himself.

But there was no point of crying about it now.

What he had to do was to work with what he got, that’s what Iwa had said back in the day he started working with him, slowly climbing his way up in the ranks. What made him unpredictable, now made him a wild card in Oikawa’s deck. A lucky one.

And what he had to work with was pretty much working just fucking fine, he thought. Someone needed a good beating to get back in line, to be pressured back into their given role, to be taken care of, a bit more permanently? He was your guy.

And he knew he was good at it. Didn’t complain even when taking over smaller jobs, working with people he didn’t like all that much because work was work. No one got to complain, not out loud, because if you did what you were told all won in the end.

It could get a bit monotonous sometimes, being the guy that comes to collect or remind you of your debts. After a while you’ve heard every single lie and excuse at least once, could recite them in your sleep probably. It’s not like the people ever learned, though. They couldn’t put one and one together, that he’d heard them all before, and couldn’t give less of a shit about any of them.

And that _click_ in their heads, that was the thing he’d never grow tired of. When whoever he was paying a visit finally came to the realisation that he wasn’t here as a soft reminder to please do what you promised to do, but that he was a means to an end. And that he’d gladly make sure that the lesson stuck. Sometimes that happened as soon as he stood in front of them, happened instantly they laid their eyes on him. Sometimes that took some time, for them to realise the pile of shit they’d brought themselves into.

That’s what did it for him. That exact moment, that shift in the air that you could fucking feel right in your bones- there was nothing else like it.

It didn’t really matter if shit got real sooner or later, if he actually needed to get his hands dirty or if his face was the last thing they saw. He enjoyed all of that as well, but it was the expression in someone’s face that had just understood who was in charge.

In the long run that was, of course, Oikawa, it was _always_ Oikawa, but in these moments Kyoutani felt that he was standing right next to him. Not as an equal per se but as his hand, as his will and as everything else he needed to be.

That he was a part of something bigger than him, that he was not only being useful but that he was _necessary_.

And that he could get to prove what he was again and again every single day.

He’s tried it all, drugs, girls, guys, you name it, none of it did all that much for him, not for long, really. Because try as you might, he’s never found anything that beat this fucking high.

That was, until Makki and him had drawn the short straw one day and were going through their list of boring ass jobs, doing their rounds, with expected this low-life gambler to open his door when instead of some random piece of shit there was _you_.

With a big fucking smile on your face, as if you’d just won the lottery or some bullshit like that. You must have expected someone else, of course you did, that was the only explanation for it, with how your face falls as soon as you see who’s standing in front of you.

Kyoutani knows he’s got a poker face (just his luck that he sucks at poker) and that he’s pretty hard to read but that smile catches him unaware. No one had ever looked at him this way as long as he can remember, and it feels like a sucker punch right into his gut.

It hardly mattered that your smile wasn’t intended for him or Makki, it was the fact that he’s got to see it anyway, aimed right at him because he had been standing right in your line of sight, with Makki towering over you like a fucking giant.

Now the smile is gone, and you’re looking up at them with wide eyes that turn wider and wider the more they’re taking in. It’s a pretty vanilla job for both of them, nothing special by any means so there’s been no reason to dress up fancy. But there’s ink peeking out of their shirts and with their dyed hair and scowling faces there was no doubt about them not paying anyone a fucking courtesy call.

Your expression turns from surprised to confused to wary to scared out of your mind, and it’s a journey Kyoutani can’t help himself but enjoy. Not when there’s so much to take in on your face. There’s no act, no understanding, just so much raw emotion right in plain view.

Kyoutani’s just not getting don’t get that with the more valuable jobs where everyone knows their spiel, knows their rules and that takes away half the fun.

Neither Makki nor him miss how your grip on the door handle tightens shortly, as if considering to close the door right into their faces.

He can’t blame you. But it’s a smart move that you’re not doing it. Saves them the trouble of breaking the door open and you of having to pay for a new one. Still, it makes him wonder what kind of face you’d make if he’d choose to force himself inside your flat, what kind of noise you’d make once you realise that there’s no way of stopping him–

“Hey sweetie,” Makki interrupts his trail of thoughts, because all Kyoutani is doing is fucking staring at you.

Makki never has to try to sound intimidating. That’s what Kyoutani is here for after all, but people are nervous around him anyway, with the way he’s practically looming over them, unreadable expression on his face. You just can’t be sure what’s going on behind his face and that scared people in a completely different way.

“’s the boyfriend home? We just wanna talk, I promise.” He raises his hands with a smile, as if making an exaggerated point of proving that they’re empty and that he’s trying to come across as non-threatening as possible.

Kyoutani notes that you don’t completely fall for it when you look over him with narrowed eyes. Another smart move, people tend to assume that a big guy like him moves heavily but Makki is anything but harmless.

Still, your shoulders lose the slightest bit of tension, and that’s enough. That’s half the battle already because it gives him the opportunity to take the smallest step forward, not enough that you actually notice anything, but enough to give him leverage to stop you from shutting the door if you give any indication that you changed your mind.

With a glance in Kyoutani’s direction, who hasn’t moved from where he half leans against the wall next to the door, you look back at Makki and his seemingly polite smile.  
“He’s still at work,” you say, and either you’re one of the best actresses Kyoutani has ever seen or you’re actually being honest. His money is on the latter which isn’t making any damn sense because from the intel they got your boyfriend should have been home half an hour ago.

The same goes through Makki’s head judging by the look he shares with him.

“W-what is this about? If- if you don’t mind-” you ask, stopping yourself mid-sentence and it’s fucking endearing how polite you still are when it’s crystal clear that you’d rather they just turn around and leave than answer your question.

You don’t want them to be here. They look like trouble and there’s no way of missing that, and still you’re talking to them as if they’re your new neighbours or something.

What immediately becomes explicit is that there’s no fucking way that you know the shit your boyfriend’s in. The shit he’s into. Kyoutani can tell just from your face, too harmless and honestly confused for all of this to be an act.

Normally girls like that are making him scoff at so much naivety but he knows your boyfriend’s still able to keep up appearances, keep his job, his friends, and you’re probably be too sweet to suspect anyone of anything bad.

There’s something in him that can’t wait for you to find out what’s been going on right under your nose. A part that wants nothing more but to tear down the life you built up for yourself, just to see your heart-broken face when you try your best to pick up the pieces. To know that you’re hitting rock bottom because he made it so and that the only one that has the means to change that is _him_. He wonders what kind of face you’re going to make then. If you’re one of the silent criers or if there’s some temper hidden behind that nervous smile.

“You see,” Makki says, slowly, like he’s still thinking this through and not like he’s been doing this for years. “I doubt that’s something anyone of us wants to talk out here.”

How he manages to look so thoughtful and nice is while making it clear that this isn’t a suggestion is beyond Kyoutani. No matter how often Makki does this (and he’s talked to quite a lot of family and girlfriends) he manages to constantly seem- _nice_. Polite, interested, harmless.  
They’re working well together but next to him Kyoutani often feels like the rabid animal he keeps getting compared to. He has exactly two different expressions: fucking annoyed and less fucking annoyed.

There’s a tense silence after Makki’s words. The hand you’re still grasping the door handle with as if it’s your life line and not a useless piece of metal is slightly shaking.

You throw a short glance behind them into the hallway, and Kyoutani knows what you’re doing. Knows that you’re not sure if you want someone to be there behind them, someone that you can call for help, or that you’re relived no one’s in sight to see what kind of visitors you’ve attracted.

He’s seen this before, the nervous looking around, the hastened breath, but he doubts he’s ever enjoyed it as much as he’s doing now. The frightened look of a deer standing in the headlights, not sure what move to make.

It feels like forever even though it’s probably been only a couple of seconds before you decide to make the right move, to take a step back, making enough room for them to get into your flat while keeping distance between you and them. Wouldn’t want any of them to get too close to you, as if you had a choice in the matter.

Good to know that there’s a working brain behind that cute face. That’ll make things easier or harder and he already can’t fucking wait to see what way this goes.

The flat is nice enough. Nothing special, Kyoutani has in nicer neighbourhoods than this but also definitely in worse. There’re a few pictures on the walls, some artsy, some photographs (you and your boyfriend) and it’s barely three steps before they’re in your living room.

He’s seen wives that try to ignore their presence all together, and some that are pushing them down into couches or chairs, trying to butter them up by making them as comfortable as possible as if that would change shit. A couple of times someone even tried to call the cops but that never ended well for anyone involved. It’s all the same to him, really, because none of that’s going to change what they came here to do.

From the way you’re standing in the middle of the room, visible fidgeting with your hands, eying the phone on your living room table but too afraid to actually take it, you’re pretty fucking uncomfortable. You’re not even trying to make conversation or to ask another question and Kyoutani is at the same time glad of it and disappointed.

Makki pushes a blanket and a book aside that lie on the couch, where you’ve obviously been sitting before they knocked and sits down with a carefree sigh as if you’ve been friends for years.

Kyoutani finds another wall to lean against to look around the room. But maybe also because he likes the flinch that goes through you when you realise you’re practically surrounded by them, Makki sitting on your left and Kyoutani standing on your right.

You’re trying to open your mouth a couple of times, looking like a fish out of water, before deciding against speaking out. Nervousness is seeping off of you in waves, and Kyoutani can feel your eyes nervously going over Makki and him, trying to be subtle and failing spectacularly. There’s fear in your expression but also some strange sort of fascination that’s pleasantly running down his spine.

It’s not the kind of interest that he’s used to. Kyoutani’s seen people lose their shit over his tattoos, over his job. The mere mention of the Yakuza seems to get them wet and he’s no saint, he’s made the best out of it whenever he had an itch to scratch. Mostly though, groupies like that make his eyes roll back, not in pleasure.

It’s no surprise to him that there’s none of that in you, at least not from what he can tell. And why would there be, when you seem like the sort of good girl that’d never hang out with the likes of him because he’s worth no more than the dirt under your finger nails? Someone that had never had to interact with someone with a criminal record or the money and influence to weasel themselves out of one? It’s like you can’t believe this is happening, happening to _you_ , and that all of this just has to be some sort of big mistake.

He’s heard that so often that he stopped counting but you’re not spilling any kind of excuse, aren’t even trying to reason with them. You’re none of these rich bitches that let him know exactly what they’re thinking of him with a glare alone, instead you’re trying to stand your ground while trying in to blend with the background at the same fucking time. There’s something about you he can’t put his finger on.

And really, he tries. There’s only so much in your living room he can look at and he’s not ashamed to admit that he’s been taking you in just the same. It helps that you’re pretty easy on the eyes as well.

“When’s he going to be home?” Makki asks, pulling Kyoutani out of his mind once more. You’re the one that’s practically jumping out of your skin though as if caught unaware, which Makki decidedly ignores. He’s going over the back of your book, as if having all the time in the world.

“Because as nice as this is,” he smiles at you in a way that seems almost pleasant. “I think you want us out of your flat asap and as soon as we’ve had a talk with your boyfriend we’re out of your hair.”

You blink and Kyoutani wants to fucking bash his head against the wall because your stupid-cute face is going to melt his brain. He’s been acting like he’s fucking incompetent ever since you opened the door and he’s not sure he’s able to stop.

“I- Soon I think. Do you- Do you want me to call him?” you offer, finally deciding that this is as much reason to reach out for your phone as any. Kyoutani’s on the verge of stepping in because you’ve been clever so far, and that means he doesn’t want you near a phone least you do something stupid, when both of you come to a sudden halt.

There’s the sound of your front door opening and a male voice calling out to you.

Relief spreads over your face, and Kyoutani’s heart misses a beat.

Yet, you don’t make a move to leave the room. You don’t even open your mouth. Probably because Kyoutani is standing not only way too close to you but also right in your way, effectively blocking your exit.

His eyes are burning into yours, and you immediately avert yours, taking a step back.

There’s a pause, with your boyfriend calling out once more before he nearly stumbles over his feet (and Kyoutani’s) when he enters the room and then sees the company you’re in. He’s looking back and forth between you and them, and then so fucking obviously back to the main door that Kyoutani can hardly contain a snort.

He’s not making a run for it though, he doesn’t seem to be that stupid and a big part of him is pretty disappointed that he doesn’t get the chance to hunt him down and break something. He doesn’t miss that the thought of running crosses your boyfriend’s mind though, and that it’s so clear on his dumb face.

From the sharp intake of breath coming from you, you got to the same realisation that Kyoutani does not much later. That this fucker would have left you alone with them.

And now he doesn’t even try to make a move to get closer to you, to step in between you and them, and the anger that’s always _just_ on the verge of spilling over in Kyoutani flares up intensely. Before he realises it, he’s taken a step towards him, fists clenched at his side when Makki’s polite cough breaks him out of it.

People can say whatever they want about him, he knows when to back off. Mostly.

So, he does, leaning back against the wall with crossed arms, and he tries to enjoy the panicked look in this asshole’s face. To remind himself that he’s here to do a job and so far, he’s not really been himself. But if any girl of his was so much in the same room with guys like him, guys that mean danger, he wouldn’t let her out sight, he thinks to himself. She’d be right by his side and he’d fuck up anyone that even dared to breath in her direction. And you’d know it. That this piece of work has you in his life and doesn’t–

There’s a quiet sniff from his side, where you’re trying to badly hide the fact that you’re crying. You’re doing it silently, with your arms wrapped around you and your gaze on the floor. He can’t see much of your face with how your hair is blocking the view but from the way you’re holding yourself you’re looking so helpless and hurt and fucking lonely that it tears at something in him that he didn’t know he had. Your boyfriend is only glancing your way sometimes and still no move towards you, and Kyoutani wants to snap something.

Makki does his thing, putting the facts on the table with only as many words as necessary. He’s done this so often that he could do it blindly. Reminding your boyfriend of what kind of agreement was made between him and the people that loaned him a pretty fine sum of money. The fucker is getting more and more uncomfortable and there’s a thin line of sweat running down the side of his face. And Kyoutani is so fucking pleased by that. Shit hasn’t even really hit the fan yet and this loser is already this close to pissing himself.

Having reminded himself what he’s here to do, he does what he does best, which is making sure that this guy knows they mean business. Which means he doesn’t have to do much besides standing there and looking menacing, something he pretty much had covered when he turned eight.

It hardly ever happens that he has to get physical during the first little reminder-visit and from what he can tell already — and has suspected since he first looked him up — your boyfriend’s a fucking pussy. Doesn’t mean his fingers aren’t twitching, all too ready to roughen him up a bit for the slightest reason.

You on the other hand- it looks like you’re waiting to be swallowed up by the ground the more this goes on, with how you’re getting smaller and smaller. Your fists are clenched, as if holding back a fuck-ton of sadness and anger. And doesn’t he know the feeling?

It has to be a pretty big disappointment to find out on the very same day that your boyfriend isn’t only a coward but a fucking idiot as well, borrowing money from the wrong people. And then not even for the both of you but for something like gambling as well.

The thought that _he’d_ never treat you this way, that he’d never lie about anything you wanted to know of him goes through his head before he can stop it. It catches him unaware because what the fuck.

You have a cute face and the rest of you looks pretty nice as well, no doubt, but it bothers him that, technically, you’re nothing special. You’re just an adjunct of a boring ass job they’ve got to do before they can move on to the next one and yet here he is, acting as if this is the first time he’s seen a pretty girl.

A girl that couldn’t be less interested in him if she tried. But maybe that’s what this is all about? Wanting what you can’t have and all that? A guy like him shouldn’t be allowed in a mile of you, he’d be the first to admit it but the fact that your boyfriend had somehow made the fucking cut, was proof that things didn’t work that way.  
  
Doesn’t take long for Makki to be done. When they take their leave, your boyfriend’s pants are still dry but only barely.

Kyoutani’s throwing you one last look over his shoulder, right when your no-good boyfriend dares to make a move closer to you, and the way you’re so obviously seething while still trying to hold yourself back is so fucking hot that it feels as if it’s burned right into his brain.

He tries not to think about that, about _you_ for the rest of the day, but Makki didn’t get this far by being an idiot.

“So, the girl, huh,” he says when they’re back in the car. He’s staring straight ahead but wiggling his eyebrows, and it’s so over the top for him that Kyoutani has to snort. “Pretty cute, I know, but I’ve never thought her to be the type you’d go so fucking stupid for.”  
“’don’t have a fucking type,” Kyoutani mumbles, not even going to argue about the stupid-part, and turns the radio on, ending the conversation before it really began.

He doesn’t have a type.

And if he had, you wouldn’t be it.

So, it would be the last thing on his mind to look you up, find out where you’re coming from, where you’re working at and where you’re hanging out around town. Who your friends are, where your family is. Why the fuck you waste your time with a piece of shit like that as your boyfriend.

He tells himself that it’s just to make sure you’re a boring little no one, that he’s doing this. Just to make sure you’re not calling the cops or something stupid like that.

Yeah, right.

You’ve thrown your boyfriend out shortly after their visit and he’s staying with some of his colleagues right now, he knows that because he, Yahaba and sometimes Makki have been waiting for him there a couple of times to collect some money from him.

The others had teased him about not really trusting him to hold myself back when it came to that piece of shit. Knowing fully that he could, and that he _would_ because it was for the fucking job.

What wasn’t part of his job was that he knew this café you’re dropping by every morning, switching back and forth between the same two orders every time you’re there. Always tipping generously, despite the fact that you’re not swimming in money.

You’re jogging. Hating every second of it, judging by the look on your face, which makes this hilarious, but you’re nothing but determined. It’s the same route every weekend, through a park that’s not too crowded but not too empty.

When you’re heading to work, you’re wearing skirts more often than not. They’re not unprofessionally short, but there’s this slit at the back of them that shows of a bit more of your legs and he’s crazy about that. Fucked his fist frantically more than once to the memory.

You take your time when grocery shopping, going through your list, looking carefully at your options, as if having a recipe already in mind. Smiling at the cashier, saying Please and Thank you more often than necessary. For some reason that’s beyond him, this is his favourite thing. The care you put into the things that you do.

It doesn’t matter what you do or how you do it, Kyoutani’s so into it he could scream.

Getting off on you looking like a fucking doll, so put together while being none the wiser how he’s taking you apart in his mind is one thing. It’s something else that he’s close to rubbing himself raw over the thought of being the one picking you up from work, taking you home, being smiled at like he knows you can back when he first saw you. Of being a part in your life.

Your boyfriend is, sadly, paying the money back. Not the whole sum at once but there’s a constant flux of money changing hands and he fucking hates that. He’d be glad for any reason to fuck this guy up just a bit more, and he’s kinda toeing the lines whenever he does, just because he can. Still, he’s not taking this as far as he wants to because he’s not about to go against the rules for this piece of shit. There’s nothing he can do but let the pent-up energy out on other jobs as an outlet.

He knows it’s gotten out of hand, this entire fucking _infatuation_ with you, when it starts to become a habit to not just find out things about you that he keeps for himself. When he first trails after you as you’re leaving from your job, the entire way. Telling himself that he’s got some free time to kill anyway and it’s just a slightly different route that he normally takes.

Iwa had always told him to get a hobby that doesn’t involve beating the shit out of another person, so what if he’s taking walks now that just happen to cross with your way home. The least he can do is to make sure you’re getting home safely and all that.

That goes well for about a week before he’s grown tired of his own excuses. He’s never been anything but brutally honest, with himself and others, to the annoyance of everyone involved, and he’s already tired of his own shit. No sugar-coating in the world could gloss over the fact that he’s stalking you. Like some gross, desperate creeper, the kind that breaks into your home and steals your used underwear and that’s now what he is. That’s now what he wants to be.

This is already kinda beneath him and fuck, he hadn’t even known he could sink this low but seeing you almost every day seems to be the only thing that keeps his sanity intact, or at least it feels like it does. He can’t feel it in himself to feel ashamed of it when he sees you smile and wave at your colleagues, at some stupid rando in the street.

His friends are perceptive as fuck so it’s only a matter of time before word goes around to them. Makki’s already snickering with Mattsun while looking his way and he doesn’t want to know what the hell they’re on about but knows that they’re probably right. Which is even more fucking upsetting, if you asked him.

Doesn’t mean he’s got it in himself to stop.

Oikawa has better things to do than meddling with his private life, but the next time he sees him, he takes him aside.

“I’m sure this new little hobby of yours won’t interfere with your work or put us in a bad light now, will it, Kyoutani?” he asks him with a sharp smile. Kyoutani doesn’t even bother asking what this is about.

“It won’t,” he replies and he doesn’t falter under his oyabun’s calculating gaze because he means it. Oikawa seems to come to the same conclusion because after considering him a short moment he nods.

“That’s what I thought,” he says and puts a hand on his shoulder as he passes him. “You better treat her right,” he adds with a wink, and Kyoutani hates how his cheeks warm up at the implication.

As soon as he meets up with the others and Yahaba tries to open his mouth to crack another joke at his expanse (and Kyoutani knows that he wants to because it’s written right there on this face), he gets a smack from him.

He hadn’t asked for an Okay from up-top, mind you, but now that he has it, there’s a weight lifted off his shoulders. Not that he’s been trying to hide from you or anyone to begin with. Probably the opposite actually, not like that makes any of this better.

But creepy stalkers are doing their thing in secret and not in plain sight, right? With his bright hair and angry face, the tattoos barely covered by his clothes he’s not that great at blending in with the crowd anyway.

You’re not the most attentive person when it comes to your surroundings, but that’s fine, it’s what he’s here for.

But even so, there’s only so long that he goes unnoticed.

He’s practically standing right next to you as you stop at the traffic lights when you speak up, not even turning around to him.

“I’d like you to stop doing whatever you’re doing here, please.” Kyoutani’s so fucking taken back at you talking to him that he’s left speechless. It’s the first time you actually spoken to him, not to Makki, not into the room, but to _him_. “I-I’m not with him anymore and I don’t owe you anything so, please- please just stop.”

Your hands are tightly gripping your bag and first he thinks that you read all of this wrong, he’s not going to pickpocket you like some low-life criminal but then he realises that you’re trying to stop yourself from shaking. You’re still not looking at him, hell, you hardly even stuttered when you voiced your wish (because even now you were so fucking polite) but that you’re too scared to look him in the eyes.

When the light turns green and you walk ahead, he gets over his surprise and keeps trailing after you.

You’re trying to look behind you without being too obvious while being pretty fucking obvious, and when you see him still right behind you, the death grip around your bag becomes even tighter. You quicken your steps. 

The edge of Kyoutani’s mouth twitches. You’re so fucking cute.

Speaking out to him apparently used up all your courage. You don’t say anything the rest of your way.

You don’t say anything the entire week, even when he starts waiting for you right across your workplace as soon as you tried using some new routes back home to shake him off. Changing shifts or leaving earlier was out of question once he made sure you knew he wouldn’t be too happy should he find out about it and that you really wouldn’t want to see him unhappy.

Kyoutani has no idea what you tell your frowning colleagues, visibly uncomfortable with the tattooed guy picking you up but whatever you say to them seems to work out (mostly) and he doesn’t give a shit about them either way.

What he does give a shit about is that he sees you smile at them, and then sees how that smile falls as soon as you turn to him. You’re not even looking at him when he’s right there, walking next to you.

He should be used to it by now, yet it still feels like a punch into the gut every time.

His mind comes up with different scenarios of you greeting him every night. Turning to him with a smile, linking your arm with his, fuck, once he nearly creamed his pants by imagining you holding his fucking hand, reaching for it and then giving his split knuckles a kiss. 

You’re not kicking or screaming at him though, so things could be worse though, right? He’s seen you with your friends, with your co-workers enough to know that you’re naturally a bit timid, which suits him just fine. He’s not the most talkative either. Calling him “intimidating” would an understatement and considering that your first meeting didn’t go _so_ well, he knows this can’t be easy for you. His brain gets it, really. That there was no meet-cute, no nice small talk over sweet nothings, no shared friends or past. He met you because he was ready to beat money of your ex-boyfriend and he wouldn’t have had any qualms about doing it just for fun even now.

He’d never get any of this couple-shit other people get to have. And up until now that’s been fine for him, fuck, he’d have thrown up just at the thought of it.

That was before you had entered the picture, though.

And he’s trying to be patient, really, he is, but that never worked out too well for him before and what little patience he had was running thin. It didn’t help with you being so fucking close to him and still so out of reach. With your pretty and wide eyes, those fucking lips, and your skirts for work, and don’t even get him started on the fact that you stopped wearing them as soon as he made your walks a reoccurring event.

The pants you started to wear probably seemed like a more modest choice to you but the only thing they’re doing for him is highlighting different areas on your body that Kyoutani hadn’t noticed before.

Normally, he spends the afternoon (when he’s not busy with work) with bringing you to your apartment door, where he waits for you to unlock it and watches you hush through it without a word of goodbye. He only leaves when he hears you lock it from the inside as well.

Today’s no different than any other day, technically. The weekends were tough sometimes, as they meant more work for him and a less tight schedule for you that he could keep track of.

But today he woke up, got off to you during his morning shower, did some jobs for Iwa, and then changed into a shirt without bloodstains to pick you up.

All in all, he would have said he was in a good mood, that he couldn’t wait to finally see his girl after being separated from her for too long.

He smirked when he saw you get out of the door, waving at someone behind you. You were so fucking beautiful that it hurt and he couldn’t believe his own luck sometimes.

He brushed away non-existent dirt off his clothes that you’d hardly pay attention to anyway, with how you kept looking at your own feet when with him, he made his way over to you before suddenly coming to a halt. Some of your co-workers who (was too unimportant to him to remember his name but that he did look up once, to make sure he wasn’t someone he needed to keep an eye on) had run after you and was now putting his fucking arm around you as if he– as if Kyoutani wasn’t standing right here.

And instead of pushing him off, you just ducked your head down sheepishly and waved him goodbye once more. Before seeing him and quickly looking down, smile and carefree attitude forgotten.

Kyoutani was seeing red and it took everything in him to not just go after this little fucker and rip him to shreds. From the way you didn’t even try to argue with him when he pushed you forward, away from the building and away from that guy, you must have realised that doing anything else but what he said, had the potential of ending badly.

Adrenaline’s still pumping through his veins the entire walk to your place and from the way you bite your lip and hold on tight to your bag, you know something’s off. Any other day he’d feel sorry for you, would be mad at himself for scaring you like this. But right now, the only thought running through his brain was that this guy was able to touch you, to be close to you without thinking twice over it while he barely got to stand next to you.

The fucking relieved little breath that you let out once your apartment door’s inside is what pushes him over in the end. You’ve just finished opening up the door when he pushes you inside and throws it close behind you two. The only thing you can do is let out a yelp as you stumble, Kyoutani's hands being what holds you upright. Your bag falls to the ground with a thump and your mouth opens in a silent cry of pain when your head hits the wall behind you.

He’s in your space immediately, pressing himself against you with a low groan, his forehead on yours. His breath is going so fast that you’d think he’s run a whole marathon.

You can feel him against your hip, and you let out a sob before closing your eyes, trying to turn away from him. He doesn’t let you.  
  
“P-please d-don’t,” you whimper, and your voice is so small that Kyoutani wouldn’t have understood a word of it if he weren’t so close to you. His hand grips your hair and pulls your face back towards him, holds you where he wants you. “I- I don’t want this.”

He tilts his head, mustering your face. Tears are silently streaming down your cheeks and he can feel your sped-up pulse where he holds your wrists against the wall, a grip so tight that he knows it’ll leave bruises on your soft skin. Skin that he feels against himself for the very first time.

Skin that he knows your fucking co-workers get to touch every single fucking day.

“And I’d like to beat your colleague to a fucking pulp,” he says, directly into your ear because he’s close enough to do so. Because he _feels_ the shiver that runs through you. “You think we should always get what we want?”

Slowly, he pulls back just enough to get a good view of your expression, eyes wide and shiny with tears as they settle on him. And then turn even wider.

There it is, he thinks, the moment it finally clicks. Didn’t take you long.

And fuck, he’s never felt higher.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3


End file.
